


Boy with A Quest

by cinnamon_penpal



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon)
Genre: (sort of), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Moon Powers Varian (Disney), Season/Series 02, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26803006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamon_penpal/pseuds/cinnamon_penpal
Summary: A flock of soldiers dashed through the dungeons, running from the right corridor to the very back alley, searching relentlessly for the isolated chamber in the far left aisle. The sleeping residents had woken up to great crashes and loud, boisterous steps, an armed fanfare a door away from their comfy beds.The clock pointed to a peculiar time.An old, familiar time for prisoners. Time servants and criminals alike dreaded.Execution.Or, Varian kind of dies in Season Two. A Season Two rewrite I guess.
Relationships: Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider/Rapunzel, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Varian (Disney) & Everyone
Comments: 52
Kudos: 155





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello, thanks for giving it a shot :) it will be a bit long but I feel like I should say some things right ahead. Don't feel the need to read through.
> 
> I'm a non-native writer, so sorry if there are any errors in this. 
> 
> if you spot some of them, don't feel sorry to point them out to me, I will do my best not to do them again and will correct them the best I can. 
> 
> (though, uh, don't feel obligated to point them out to me. I already appreciate the fact you're giving this a chance.)
> 
> 1\. I'm writing this fanfiction to improve my writing. And, well, to improve you have to practice and practice again... So yeah! Fanfiction writing IS a pretty good training :)
> 
> 2\. I don't know if my characterization is on point?? I don't think so?? But, then again, it's only by making mistakes that we learn. (I'm so sorry if OOC-ness bothers you)
> 
> 3\. The summary may change at one point and I will keep updating the tags as things progress...
> 
> 4\. It's a Season Two Rewrite, but not really?  
> I mean, I think I'm going to diverge a lot from the source material while still continuing on the same track? Guess you just have to found out ;)
> 
> 5\. Since it's a fanfiction, I will take a few liberties, especially concerning the timeline. I will try to make it as understandable as possible. 
> 
> It's a bit of a mess, sorry about that. 
> 
> hope you enjoy :)

A flock of soldiers dashed through the dungeons, running from the right corridor to the very back alley, searching relentlessly for the isolated chamber in the far left aisle. The sleeping residents had woken up to great crashes and loud, boisterous steps, an armed fanfare a door away from their comfy beds. 

The clock pointed to a peculiar time.

An old, familiar time for prisoners. Time servants and criminals alike dreaded.

Execution.

It had been quite a long time since the last one happened, the last one of many, many other ones. 

They all thankfully remembered when these tragic events drew to a close, putting a long break to sanguinary slaughters. All ceased to take place after the Princess’ Return, which was something every citizen was glad to learn about.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end and the overdue was inevitable. 

The ray of light that kept them from happening was gone, letting behind her the angry tempest to rule over the sky. Over was the blissful calm, it was now the storm’s turn.

Blood was going to spill, there was nothing to stop it, no-one to stop it. Hours were running fast and the clock wouldn’t stop ticking.

The armors of these men were ringing across the walls, piercing painstakingly through every fortification. The man ahead of them made a clear motion, beckoning the following troops to halt for a moment. Clanking against the cell’s bars, the gleaming, sharp weapons made of metal rustled against the firm door in a deafening commotion.

Inside the lonely cell, a youngster was waiting on a bench, as if he was expecting time to come and catch him at any given moment. Arms stubbornly kept to his sides, he was curled up in a sitting position, his knees securely tucked under his chin as he stared out in the distance.

A deep, guttural sound interrupted his musings, pulling him out of them roughly.

The prisoner raised an eyebrow, visibly unimpressed by the grand entrance. He then turned his head to them, appraising the troop before his eyes.

The King abhorred him, didn’t he? 

After a short instant of recollection, he stood up from the wooden surface, facing his persecutors, and dusted his dirty rags off. It wasn't very effective given the state his clothes were already in.

The one with the red texture on top of his helmet took a few steps toward the convict without paying any mind to his fellow fighters’ incessant whispering. He took a look at the inmate in front of him, assessing him from head to toes.

A boy in a desolate state glared right back at him, a haunted expression on his face. It didn’t change, didn’t vary since the final verdict a week ago, and the fact alone was wrong and disturbing. He appeared miserable.

Although the large, heavy bags under his eyes darkened his childish features, he hardly looked past twelve. All the more now, draped in the prison’s residents’ clothes that were so large his bony shoulder was exposed to the cold, polluted air of the dungeons. His frail legs and arms were cluttered with scrapes, bruises and burns. He was as thin as a twig and as fragile as a duckling, barely able to pick himself up without tumbling. His skin was ashen, a pale, upsetting copy of the initial tone of color. It was off-putting when you remembered this was, no longer than months ago, the profile of an eager, beaming young man.

Aside from his appalling complexion, his fading, light freckles that adorned his nose stood weakly comparing to before. Filth smudged his body while a slight scar followed his eyebrow’s curve as if he had been hit with something sharp near that area. His legs were covered with splotches of varying shades of blue, purple, and yellow, each as concerning as the other. 

The light in his gaze was extinct, completely gone. Finished was the kind, helpful boy he used to be. He was now as good as dead as the decaying flowers in the distant corner of the courtyard everyone had forgotten about, that gradually had their essence drained out. 

His fingers, as white as the snow, clenched together in a silent act of protest, was one of the only signs of liveliness in the morbid view.

His focus clearer, he groaned in annoyance as he recognized the Corona's symbol inscribed on the uniforms. Watching closely the cavalry with stinky eyes, he squinted at them, now only a step away from what separated the free and the chained. 

“Well, good morning to you too, gentlemen.” He announced in a poisonous tone, a fake smile displayed on his chapped, bloody lips.

“Enough of this, _Varian_.” 

Shivers traversed the condemned. People avoided using his given name in this day and age, afraid of the consequences pronouncing a monster’s name could cause, it was unusual to be called like that these days.

The rehearsed tone lacing over-familiar words, the first name basis, the hostile sense of authority submerging him like hungry beasts waiting for the moment to strike, the large figure towering over him... It felt unreal, like a faraway dream he once lived through. A misplaced nostalgia unraveled his senses, his souvenirs as the mistake that plagued his life began to resurface, breaking through the boundaries of his brain for a brief moment. Memories quickly took the upper hand on his brain, bringing him back when he still had a family and a home to return to. 

Nonetheless, he brushed them off, he was used to at this point, composing himself once more. 

Ignoring the intrusive thoughts fueled by guilt and remorse, he forcefully reminded himself it wasn’t his fault he was jeopardized in this delicate situation. It wasn’t his fault his dad was stuck.

It was their fault, all of this.

(Just for today, let him believe this.)

In an unspoken confrontation, the two opposite figures, the forgotten child and the rightful father stared into each other’s eyes. Unknowingly, they were reaching out to some sort of understanding, of closure, grasping for something that won’t let this whole chaos go to waste and holding on to the slim trail of hope left.

Alas, they failed. And, nothing came out of it from this wordless exchange. The two too headstrong to convey what they initially wanted to address. Sentences full of repressed feelings, never to be expressed, lost in mere instants, lost forever in the calm, unwavering sea of nothingness. The looming, oppressing smell of death swallowing them all. 

The last chance to mend, to resolve, lost as well.

Without any other words spoken, the head of the guard tossed a bundle of fabrics at the traitor’s bare feet. Next, a pre-owned pair of warm shoes were presented to him. 

The outlaw contemplated what was in front of him with a vacant look.

Together, the items made up quite a unique picture. 

A teal shirt, dark boots, brown pants, and a ragged apron. The clothes were littered with patches of misfitting patterns clumsily sewn into the tissue, a bold blue thread putting assembling them.

His eyes widened. He recognized these items.

He recalled a night, years ago. He recalled a broad, dark figure enlightened by an orange light in the middle of the night. He recalled as the man fumbled with needles and scraps of textiles. 

He recalled as he once watched his father patch up his torn up outfit.

The criminal collapsed to his knees, his gaze firmly settled on the fallen articles. The sensation of sinking crushed him under its weight. The unwanted flashbacks brought him into a continuous spiral of longing and helplessness. Little by little, he felt his pulse quicken up and his stomach make a twisted turn.

Selfish desires overtaking his rational thinking, he reached out and finally took a grasp of them. 

He observed, one by one, taking in and memorizing every little detail that grazed his attention, tracing down the seams with his index. He touched each object with love he never thought he could feel while staring pitifully at each crease, each hole left unrepaired. 

Clutching onto his belongings, he ignored the throbbing dread probing his neurons agonizingly and kept struggling against the lack of oxygen he suddenly felt. His heart pounded blaringly inside his ribcage and his lungs seemed so empty at the moment, devoid of any air. All his limbs and the totality of his organs screamed at him in unison, begging him to do something, anything to relieve them.

He blinked, distraught, and dizzy. The whole world around him seemed blurry at its edges, blinding colors blending together in a disharmonious palette. 

Absentmindedly, his arms shot up to his face. Hands made their way to his cheeks, meeting a wet surface, tears still trickling down his fingers.

The villainous brat was crying on his knees, like a mundane child throwing a tantrum.

The realization of his own weaknesses was the breaking point. 

Step by step, failures, mistakes, and sorrow got through the defense walls, breaking down each of his reserves. Violent sobs overcame the prisoner in a flash as he deeply sniffed into the welcome scent of his house. Tremors appeared all over his skin, causing the pathetic boy to choke on his saliva as he cried. Snot and tears soiled both the ground and the boy’s outfits as he continued to bawl. A red, furious trail of teardrops running down his pale cheeks.

It was unfair how right they felt, placed in his hands, so right and so warm.

But, something was amiss, and it broke harshly the illusion he was put under.

The convict looked up. Did he act out of boldness or out of forlornness? No-one would ever know. 

“C-can I get my goggles back?”

He observed the righteous man in front of him with bright eyes that shone like precious gems.

Nowadays, the rich, vivid blue that animated the adolescent’s orbs were dimmed, hollowed by hours of solitary confinement, clouded by the loss of his father and the defeat he suffered from. Yet, right at the moment, you could discern the same bright color bustling the teenager’s stare. A fire ignited his eyes in a pleading, determined manner. 

The change made the swordsman take a step back. 

“Please,” he begged, his lids shut in despair, his head bowed as he crumbled on his knees, his hands shakily holding the totality of his weight, on the ground.

A low grunt echoed inside the narrow walls, and then:

“Fine, since today is a special day…”

Eyes gaping considerably, the inmate let his mouth hang haphazardly, stupefied.

Then, Varian smiled, showing his front teeth. 

It was a shy smile, one you could expect after braiding one of the little girls’ hair. Just like the one you could expect from an eager-to-please young boy of fourteen years of age. 

Yet, you wouldn’t anticipate it from a malefactor.

A sudden, heartbreaking revelation crossed the hero’s mind, a sick feeling reigning free in his aching stomach. The daunting meaning echoing in his head, threatening to burst into horror.

He was still just a kid.

....

Varian lifted his eyebrow in stupefaction, a disbelieving laugh escaping his lips. The young trainee that led him to the stage eyed him suspiciously. Without any mercy, he continued to push the despicable criminal onwards, despite the burdensome chains trailing after them.

It was going too fast. 

Too fast to Varian’s liking. Too quick for Varian to calculate, to think, to try. Time always flew too fast. And there was nothing he could do about it. 

He couldn’t stop it, he couldn’t go back. He couldn’t run, back out, or whatever he was supposed to do. This right wasn’t his. It had never been.

He could only look ahead.

The con shuddered, trying to clear away such useless musings. Disgusted and still quite uneasy, he eyed the bucket a few feet away from him with disdain. If things went accordingly, it won’t be empty by the end of the day.

He shook his head. He couldn’t believe it. This was it.

This was over.

He knew he did objectively wrong things and made terrible life choices. He knew he endangered the monarchy and that would, most likely, cost him his brain along with his whole life. 

Someone who kind of stole a sacred treasure held dear by the King himself, someone who may or may not have stolen the Queen as well, someone who, perhaps, had tried to sort of, let’s say, for example, murder a bunch of important people, all while hurting the beloved princess’ feelings, had all the chances to get mercilessly executed without any trial. 

(Oh, and let’s not talk about the whole drugging affair, shall we?)

It was common knowledge at this point. Anyone who angered the King or put his family in danger deserved damnation.

He knew. He knew all that, by heart.

Did he care then? No, absolutely not.

He never thought he would die so quickly, and, like this. 

He didn’t want to believe he was moments away from death.

(Fourteen years old. It was almost laughable. 

Since he was little, Varian craved to make a name for himself, seeking validation and maybe praises or anything to boost his ego.

Well, at least, he got his wish.

Known for being the youngest executed criminal to date. How charming.)

Despite all this, he believed so, so much. He was blinded, of course, as always. Blinded by the King and his daughter’s promises, blinded by his wishes, to save his father, to make him proud...

The budding hope blooming inside him had been a cruel error, a painful way to escape reality. As a result, he had to pay the price for his shattered expectations. He had to pay the price for putting his trust in others, once again. 

In the dejected corner of his mind, Varian knew, long way before his sentence fell, that he was going to die before rewatching the sunset with his father. 

Frankly, it was a miracle that he made it so far, knowing what could have taken place in the dungeons.

Beaten by grown-up guards, starving in his little cell, eaten by the rats roaming around, infested by diseases, pummeled by his fellow criminals on the stone ground… 

The list was endless, a myriad of possibilities. Life was a fickle thing, especially if you’re named “Varian” or so it seemed.

It was no surprise to find out others had hard feelings for him back in the dungeons. 

Wherever he went, he constantly had been the odd one out of the band. Even in Old Corona, he was the “black sheep of the village”, the “good-for-nothing son of Quirin”, the, what was it again? “The Dangerous, Unstable, Wizard Of Old Corona”! 

Ha! Absolutely ridiculous. For crying out loud, he was an alchemist!

(A very good one at that.)

He let out a joyless chuckle, remembering all the innumerous rumors he was drowned under since he was a kid. The pressure to be a good son, the fear in children’s eyes, and the mix of contempt and resentment the elders seemed to hold for him and his entire existence. 

It was good riddance. Such a good thing for him to disappear forever. To be out of their way, out of their village, their community. Despite being the leader’s son, he never belonged, did he?

Useless existence, pointless inventions, vain dreams… It was, in every aspect, fitting for him to meet a hopeless end. 

At least where he was going, he wouldn’t have to be up to everyone’s expectations. 

Also, regarding Rapunzel’s merry group of friends... he never really belonged there either, did he?

The realization that he won’t even see the sunset again, with or without his father, hadn’t dawned upon him, yet, he could already see his memories flashing before his eyes. 

A past where promises were thrown around, where parents were not around, where idols were only human and stories were only vulgar pieces of paper. He didn’t want to believe this would be the last thing he would remember from this cursed world. He didn’t want to believe it was the last thing he would see before his departure.

If only he could reminisce about the good times, where mothers were made of bones and blood, where raccoons baked apple pies with you, where fathers read fantastic tales before bedtime and where found princesses only existed in books.

If only. If only those were the only things left on his mind before taking off.

“Hey, that’s my arm you’re crushing. Geez, no need to be rough.”

He huffed out a sigh, the guards ignored his complaints, as usual. 

Reluctantly he marched forward and climbed the few steps made of wood. 

(Why aren’t you running, screaming, crying? Why aren’t you doing anything?

Why aren’t you getting out?)

There was no way out. 

Suddenly, he made eye contact with the blade. He had now a clear view of the sanguinary instrument that was now only a few meters away from him. He could see faint traces of blood previously spilled. Glistening under the sun’s touch, it looked as if it was burning to make his head drop. The eerie glow around the shimmering object attracted him painfully, his curiosity taking the better of him at the worst moment.

Varian stumbled over his own feet, trapped in panic. 

Will it hurt? Will it cut cleanly? What face will I last make? Will they throw away my head or expose it? Will there be a lot of blood?

Will they be happy with the result? Will it be better if I go?

Endless questions that he would never have the response to. As much as it was tragic, it was infuriating, frustrating. Until the end, he would never have answers.

Varian scratched his head pensively, his right hand disentangling from his other one. 

His thoughts were suddenly thrown off as he registered the missing weight on his red wrists. 

He looked down. The rusty shackles that imprisoned him for weeks were on the ground, at his feet, under him, no longer restraining. 

Varian felt, for the first time in a while, in control, a fresh wave of freedom overtaking his lungs in the most delighting manner.

No longer locked behind doors twice his size, no longer chained to a bench.

Not helpless anymore. It was over.

The sight was electrifying, awakening, liberating. 

The feelings that came along were twice as satisfying, fulfilling an unknown fantasy sought by a child who had nothing left to hold onto. 

He glared hard down on them, a mocking smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Sneering silently, he stepped on them, crushing them, knowing fully that his haggard body wouldn’t be able to break them.

Still, for a splint of a second, Varian felt free. Freer than he ever felt. 

The guards shot him a glance but didn’t bother asking. Quietly, they redirected their eyes elsewhere, letting Varian by himself for a fleeting flash. 

Varian looked above him. It was a hot day, with no clouds in the horizon. Not even a dramatic rain. Even the sky won’t cry for him. Leaving only the Sun to laugh at him while shining so brightly.

There was no wine, no pleasure accorded, no last wish, not even a single drop of alchemy.

Just a minute to himself, only a minute to mourn his death altogether. Alone, facing the crowd, he stood. He could recognize a few faces, here and there but didn’t dare to meet their gazes.

Varian realized all at once that no-one would miss him. 

_Varian desperately prayed that Ruddiger wasn’t around to see this._

“Any last words, kid?”

And someone just had to interrupt him, again. The dead man sighed in exasperation, pinching his nose. Not even a single minute, then.

“You never tried to hear me before. Why begin now?” He said, laughing mirthlessly, gently massaging his nape. 

The burly man in front of him motioned him to bend down. 

He dropped to his knees obediently, and quickly, his head got stuck in place. He then let his tormentor secure his uncovered hands at his face’s sides. Hearing the plain sound of a lock, Varian was reminded, once again of the sad reality.

It was over soon. It was all over soon.

He closed his eyes peacefully and tried to ignore the flaring feeling of remorse deep in his gut.

It didn’t go away, not in the slightest.

He groaned. That wouldn’t do it. He refused to go away before being at peace with himself.

“W-Wait!” He exclaimed in extremis.

The executioner sighed but beckoned him to continue.

Varian exhaled, grateful. Awkwardly, he turned his head to look at the king’s wife, and with all the sympathy he could possibly muster for a member of the royal family, gave her a tired grin. One too different from the one he used to wear years ago, at the time his Dad still spoke to him dearly. 

She must’ve seen how it deteriorated given how she reacted.

“I’m sorry...” He earnestly exclaimed, to the surprise of everyone, including himself. 

“For involving the Queen,” he hastily added.

It didn’t matter, he was going anyway, it was only a matter of seconds. In any case, that would be the only apology they would get out of him. Especially if they aren’t going to reciprocate.

He sighed, and that maybe his last one. 

Everything came crashing down, he felt his past mistakes haunting him goodbye, leaving him no room to breathe. 

Briefly, he wondered if his father could still breathe, trapped in his own child’s solution. A thoughtful smile lazily stretched on his face, he didn’t pay attention to his trembling fingers or the big, salty drops that flowed on his red cheeks.

“... But, do tell me.” He darkly muttered, his icy, blue stare penetrating into the King’s disconcerted one. “W-Would, any of you, have listened to me if I hadn’t kidnapped h-her?”

An excruciating silence, the crowd was distressingly quiet. Accepting this tranquility as a reply, Varian closed his eyes, his serene expression sticking to his face like a mask. 

He returned to his initial position, head bowed, eyes downcast. 

At last, he had an answer.

And alas, he had been right. 

“I had nothing left to lose.” pronounced Varian calmly, words leaving an acerb taste on his tongue. His bottom lip was no longer quivering, he was staring right ahead of him. He didn’t fear destiny anymore.

Somehow, it was easier to unwind and accept fate now that life was truly over.

His efforts, his pain, his plans, all of this turned to ashes and dust.

Even if it had been vain, even if it hadn’t been the right thing to do, the people involved knew, it had all been necessary.

At least, he had been heard. Even if it was one time. 

If only he hadn't met Rapunzel. If only he hadn’t met Eugene, Cassandra. If only he had obeyed Dad. Too late came the regrets, the doubts, the remorse. 

They didn’t matter, they would cease to exist too, as far as they appeared.

One last time. 

Until the end, Varian hoped.

He hoped for the Princess to respect her promise. 

A promise that was forgotten for too long.

The rope snapped, a nauseating, loud thud echoed. 

Queen Arianna covered her sight in dismay, speechlessly begging an unknown force to put an end to this insanity. Teardrops slid off her cheeks, unavoidably, as she took sharp intakes of breath. It was over and no-one stopped it.

Someone murdered a child and no-one stopped it.

* * *

The Queen retreated to her chambers, locking herself inside private quarters, refusing to speak to anyone. 

The Head of the Guard, a loyal, patriotic man who was a father before anything else quit his position without nominating the next Captain. 

The King was left wondering if it was the good choice after all. 

  
  


(At midnight, when no-one was looking, the bucket was left empty.)


	2. Chapter 2

“Wake up.”

Varian took a few steps in the dark, leisurely trailing his way into the pitch-black horizon. 

He couldn’t see anything anywhere. His vision was devoid of any color as if it was soaked in ink. 

Having his eyes closed would have probably the exact same effect as having them wide open.

His surroundings were as silent as blank images, frozen in time like statues made of stone and dedication from old times. No sounds could be heard, except for the voice resonating loud in the vacancy where no-one habited. There was no autumn leaves dancing in lovely swirls, no bustling shops full of individuals from everywhere, not even a single whiff of wind blowing through. It was hauntingly calm, noiseless, in a similar manner as the dead village of Old Corona pierced by the monstrosity that was those acute rocks.

“Wake up.”

The same misty voice repeated, again. An odd air of mystery covering it like a fitting cape, almost muffling the clear-spoken words. 

Varian wondered if he had lost his mind as well as his head. 

He studied his environment with a scrupulous glare, unwilling to let escape a single detail. Whatever the point of view he took, it didn’t matter in the slightest, the scenery was all the same: an empty screen enveloped by a thick veil.

Throughout his childhood, Varian seldom got scared by the dark, unperturbed by the swallowing shadows lurking in the corners. This notion of terror had formerly been nearly impossible for him to grasp. He pained to understand why other children were terrified by the looming night when you could, during it, clearly see the darling stars held up high in the sky, illuminating the atmosphere with a cover of glitters.

Unfortunately, this quickly changed once he got a taste of prison where you couldn’t properly daydream and stargaze.

Contrary to his warm and secure room, the somber and narrow cell could quickly become unnerving, to say the least. Especially during the cold, lonely nights, he spent by himself between the cramped walls.

Nonetheless, he would’ve gladly stayed in his remote compartment back in the dungeons if it would prevent him from remaining here a minute longer.

There was something… nerve-racking about this silence area. 

A chill traversed his collarbone. Arms safely resting against his sides, Varian fiddled with his trembling fingers apprehensively. His legs were numb and began to buckle lightly as he continued his route. Overly conscious, his mind was foggy with blurry snaps and shots of his past life.

Was it all truly over?

Shoving his memories back to their place, he focused on his steps and counted softly.

_1… 2… 3..._

Although the landscape was vast and wide, he suffocated in this crowd of nothingness, jammed between the various shadows lurking near him. Too much space filled with emptiness and tainted by pitch-black encircled him, with no goal to attain, with no reason to continue further, and no light to guide him. Every step he took was meaningless, stripped away from all its intent. 

For all he knew, he didn’t even move an inch from his starting point. This sensation of stagnation was maddening. He felt like a lost soul, a lonely child wandering like that, aimlessly, forever in a world without an end.

Varian shook his head, he wasn’t lost, he wasn’t lonely. He refused to admit that.

He may have lost his freedom, his life, and his father, but he would take this to his grave. 

He wasn’t a child either, anyway. 

_4… 5… 6..._

He continued to march forward, pushing forth his incertitude and doubts. He will get out of this uncanny, nonexistent place, whatever the costs.

“Wake up.”

_“Ah, this again…”_

“Hello? Is there anybody here?” He finally asked out loud.

Nobody responded. He huffed indignantly and pouted petulantly.

“Fine… It’s not like, it’s not like I expected an answer or anything!”

Still nothing.

He let out a defeated groan, his shoulders slumping in disappointment. Varian gave up and turned away from his initial trajectory in plain stubbornness.

At the moment, a lot of questions clouded his brain, rendering him unable to function, unable to provide a coherent explanation for this strange happening. Various hypotheses and theories ran a mile a minute inside of his little head, each colliding with the others at a vicious pace.

He paused them and thought deeply. 

Granted he made some pretty bad… things in his time bygone, but did they really have to affect his afterlife as well? His life had been a living hell so far. He wasn’t going to spend eternity here, in this damned hole, was he?

Unconsciously, he sped up his stroll, feeling the weight of his sins crawling on his back. 

He was desperate to find an exit, the voice, anything. Anything other than pure black. 

The young boy felt heavy snakes snuck their way around his throat and squeezed cruelly, nearly strangling his fragile neck. He could almost smell the acid flavor of revenge viciously sticking to his skin, his bones, his clothes. A unique, amplified stench marinated in anger and guilt.

A perfume, so strong it was sickening. So nauseating but oh so fitting. 

He walked, walked, walked...

Varian turned his head: nothing. He was getting used to getting his hopes up for naught by now.

… and walked, walked, walked.

If Varian had counted the minutes, he would have noticed he walked through the vacancy three hours straight.

Varian stopped wandering around, losing his will to go on. Dejectedly, he looked behind him with a skeptical eye. He observed the invisible line he created in his mind and thought:

_“What is the point in persevering now? I can’t possibly change the past, can I?”_

He plumped down on the hard ground and sat cross-legged. All at once, he felt the fatigue he ignored during all those hours, wearing him down to a thread. 

_“Great, I can still feel the exhilarating feeling of exhaustion. That’s just, great!”_

He sighed. It would have been nice not to have to go through a thick haze full of darkness after dying so pathetically.

Varian stretched his neck and raised up his gaze to the air above him. Absentmindedly, he shot his arm up, reaching for something that didn’t exist.

_7… 8… 9…_

Every single action he ended up by taking was pointless, utterly unproductive, each and every time. It seemed that even deceased, he was good for nothing.

And here and now, he was stuck, in a vulgar box made of absolutely nothing.

The teenager kicked the ground in vain frustration.

What was this floor even made of?

Was _this_ even made of something?

Varian bit his lip, struggling to keep his emotions in check. The young alchemist sniffed loudly and held back a sob that was threatening to break out from deep down his throat.

At least here, he would be able to cry as much as he wanted to without any interruption. He was, technically, as free as a bird here in this large thing made of… space.

There were no guards to yell at him, no criminals to mock him, no princesses to listen to, no kings to disobey… no dads to tell him to ‘man up’ and no raccoons to comfort him during the difficult hours anymore.

He was utterly alone, wasn’t he? 

_“Surely, there is something to do here, anything.”_

He reluctantly thought, trying to install a hopeful mindset into his resigned attitude. 

The young boy turned to his right, to his left, shaking his head over and over again as he peered his surroundings. 

His face betrayed his disenchantment. Nothing, again. Only the void filling up.

Yeah, he was truly all alone. No-one to talk to, nothing to interact with… As time passed, Varian felt increasingly lost in this land of nowhere, a familiar sensation of helplessness overcoming his thoughts.

The alchemist buried his head in his hands, stifling his quiet whimpers as he felt shameful tears running down his cheeks, again.

With this, it was two in a row. He cried twice over the span of two, short days.

_“How miserable.”_

Was it correct to call this a day? Was ‘now’ a day? How much time had passed in the world he was born into? Certainly, the notion of time was different here. Was there even a notion? Or was it fickle and useless?

Maybe it was the eternity, maybe it was destiny.

With no clock, no sky, and no thing, it was impossible to tell what time it was, what hour it could possibly be. He had absolutely no indication of time. As far as he was aware, it could be dawn, dusk, nighttime, or even the beginning of a new week. 

Varian wiped his tears away with his forearm. He was going to find something.

He had to.

* * *

Rapunzel had an unshakable bad feeling since they left the island. 

Sitting inside a caravan, she stared out of the window, deep in thoughts as she distractedly played with a rebellious strand of her hair. Outside, the sun’s glow shone brightly, illuminating the clear, blue sky. Flowers littered the rocky road, and patches of grass shimmered under the light, varying nuances of green coloring the lively landscape. The river streamed at its steady pace, ultimately meeting its end and pouring its contents into a little lake where different kinds of fishes were swimming idly.

Truly, an ethereal sight to admire all the way through her travels. 

Though, she wasn’t too keen on appreciating the view at the moment. A disturbing vision haunting her thoughts since their unfortunate encounter with the cursed idol. 

There was something wrong with this dream-like scene, something dangerous and sharp like a knife twisting inside a gut excruciatingly.

Was it some sort of warning? Some sort of sign? A presage? An augur? 

The depiction was clear though, nothing left to the imagination:

Varian, an unstable and treacherous being, holding hostage her poor, defenseless father.

The implications, however, was a different case.

A poor and defenseless father that also happened to be the King of a country.

An unstable and treacherous criminal that also happened to be an orphaned young boy.

She looked outside the window absently, one of her fingers tapping on it. 

Fortunately, it wasn’t the case, her father was fine and Varian locked behind bars, away from any harm he could cause, or be exposed to. Neither Varian nor her father died or risked to die for that matter. At least, not on her watch.

She twirled the golden thread around her finger. 

It was definitely only a sham product of her overactive imagination fabricated while under a powerful, malicious spell and she was just being overdramatic. 

She shouldn’t worry about fraud and focus on reality. 

How did everything turn out the way it did?

Looking back to the events that occurred months ago with a clearer mind, Rapunzel finally realized the weight of actions and the gravity of the whole situation.

Assuredly, it was more than a simple, Manaechian confrontation with only two camps, wrong and right where you only had to pick a side, the ‘good’ one. It was an elaborate game of circumstances, full of players and pieces, all placed in varying positions, all filled with contrasting beliefs, principles, and perspectives, all loaded with divergent experiences, knowledge, and powers.

Maybe, her father wasn’t completely in the right. Maybe, she made some mistakes as well.

She smacked her forehead in annoyance. And, she only realized this months later. 

Of course, Varian did atrocious things and some… crazy stuff but she could’ve done something. They all could’ve done something, anything.

If only she could take a moment back and fix things between them. Just one of these numerous moments where she could’ve helped him, as a princess or as a friend. Yet, she still ignored his pleas and forgot about him. Even done unintentionally, her actions still hurt someone in the end. Someone she cared about, someone she should’ve treasured more… 

The promise. 

By the stars, the promise!

What had she done? She really shouldn’t make promises she can’t keep.

No, no, she was going to respect this promise. She was en chemin to solve the mystery of the black rocks and, and…

Quirin… What could she do about Quirin?

Rapunzel let go of her hair and bit her bottom lip anxiously. Her moral values were confronting her instincts, her bias, and her feelings in the most unpleasant way. She became fully aware of a certain fact: she wasn’t ready.

Someone knocked on the already hanging open door leading to her quarters.

“Rapunzel?”

It was Eugene.

Noticing his lover’s restlessness, he approached the Princess with a gentle expression and looked at her carefully. He sat in front of her and raised an eyebrow, probing her to talk without using any words.

“I think we shouldn’t have left Varian in Corona.” Rapunzel eventually let out after an entire minute of staring at her boyfriend in the eyes.

Eugene straightened his position, not as comfortable as before with this subject. 

“Is it this vision again?” 

Hesitantly, she nodded, guilt written over her face. Tenderly, he took her hand in his and asked:

“Are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine, at least I will, soon.” She sighed. “I know that I shouldn’t think about it but I just…It’s just that… There are so many things going on right now! I don’t know what to do Eugene… I feel like I’ve made the wrong thing, the wrong choice!”

She didn’t dare meet his gaze and let the declaration sink in. Silence penetrated the room, refusing to leave once it arrived, painfully heightening the tension between the two. 

“... Do you really think the kid could pull up a trick behind the prison’s bars?” Eugene asked, the distressing atmosphere gradually vanishing. “He may be a genius, he’s still very much of a kid.”

Rapunzel sighed for the second time and looked down on her lap. “Well, that’s what’s been bothering me.”

“That he’s a genius? Well, I mean, it’s true that he was kind of impress-”

“No, Eugene. That, that’s not what I meant.” She paused her words and contemplated the next ones. “That he’s just a, a.. a kid… He’s just a kid.”

Eugene’s face softened briefly. He suddenly seemed to have realized something, something important and dear. The former thief gave the Princess a grim grin, a conflicting mix of pity, anger, and regret all over his face. 

“I know you liked the… kid.” He let go of her hand after placing a chaste kiss on her hand, “I did too, at some point. He was a cute kid with the best intentions even if he often… messed up.”

Eugene chuckled as he remembered a distant memory. Then, he let out a long exhale and closed his eyes pensively, and continued:

“It’s still hard to rethink the outcome of this whole mess… It was so, so overwhelming.”

Rapunzel looked at him, surprised to see Eugene’s more vulnerable side while treating this topic. Her hand reached for his cheek, delicately caressing. She smiled encouragingly, waiting for him to continue his thought.

“...I could’ve lost you. Cassandra and your parents could’ve died. I would’ve lost everything I had…. Varian could’ve possibly ended the dream I’m currently living. I’m sure if you didn’t resort to using the rocks, he would have succeeded in crushing it.”

He met her beautiful green eyes and smiled back.

“Despite all that, I still don’t know what to think about him, Blondie. I should hate him technically... I don’t. I may be angry and maybe a bit disappointed? But, I don't _hate_ him.”

Her eyes widened, she didn’t see this revelation coming. Rapunzel was relieved not to be the only one with mixed views on Varian. She beamed once more, letting out a small giggle, as Eugene pressed affectionately his lips on her forehead. 

“Of course, I’m definitely not, uh, ‘ready’ to forgive him or whatever but, he’s not a lost cause, far from it... But seriously Goldie, Varian did try to kill your entire family.” 

“Yeah, he did do that…” She sighed once more.

“And, I also think you shouldn’t worry about him, for now.” He emphasized the last words.

“But-”

“Focus on your destiny instead. Wasn’t it the whole purpose of this trip? Getting to know your destiny and stuff?”

“Eugene-”

“Your father did say he would grant him help, right? He is finally beginning to trust you, maybe in exchange, you can do the same and rely on him regarding Varian?”

“I… You’re right.” Rapunzel gave him a sheepish grin. “And, I’m sure dad will keep his promise! After all, he’s my dad, right? And you know, me and promises…”

“You never, ever, break them.” he chuckled, endeared.

”Varian isn’t going to disappear any time soon from Corona… You have all the time to think about how to make things right with him after accomplishing whatever tasks you’re fated to, during the trip back home..”

“Raps! Fitzherbert! Lunch is ready!” Cassandra called out from outside.

They both laughed and headed out of the caravan, Rapunzel still barefoot. The Lost Princess stared ahead of her, looking at the blue sky. No matter what happened, the Earth was still spinning, the clock was still ticking and the skies above her were the same as those beyond her imprisoned foe.

She was going to get the bottom of it, return to Corona and respect the promise she once made to Varian. 

She was going to solve it all and make things right.

She knew she would succeed. Or at least, she hoped.

* * *

As if his prayers were heard, a dazzling light appeared out of nowhere, far away from the desperate man. Multiple rays of different shades of turquoise and silver were cast from the unusual source, all nearly blinding the lost scientist. Emerging from the beacon, an ever-present glow enlightened the dark surroundings.

Together, the hues muddled in a pale teal. 

“Come to me.”

A now familiar voice vibrated through.

_“Ah, here we go again…”_

Varian raised his head as he heard the voice speak to him in a strangely reassuring tone. It shocked him, this change of speech. He looked up from his hands, finally taking notice of the glow illuminating him from behind.

He stared at it, dumbfounded and at a loss of words.

How was this possible?

He rubbed his eyes, mistrusting his mind that only ever wanted to see what it wanted. 

The light stayed in place, illuminating a path leading straight to it. Colors were calling out to Varian, pushing him onward while provoking his curious nature, his grief, but most importantly, all the hope left in him.

(There was no time, nothing to question, he would eventually figure it out later, he had to take this opportunity. Right now.)

Hesitantly, he took a baby step towards it while staring at his feet.

A footprint. 

Ah, that was new. He could, finally, _finally_ , see something other than deep ink.

Amazed by this strange phenomenon, he took another one. And another one. 

A disbelieving laugh escaped his lips, as he raised his head and gazed, once more, towards the blinding light.

He repeated the same motion again and again.

Quickly enough, he began to run, as delighted as a cheerful little child learning to play in the upbeat alleys of Corona where lively flowers were thrown around in rhythm and where the townspeople were singing, clapping, and twirling together along with a merry tune. Varian took a deep breath, incredulous, he could almost sense the imaginary wind blowing through his unruly and greasy hair. The tip-tap sounds his shoes made echoed in the void, slowly fading into the air prior to another’s one creation. 

Together, they sounded like music, inviting him to join in the dance, to run faster and longer.

The unspoken feeling of relief and hope washed over him like waves over a castle made of sand.

After running at full speed for three minutes non-stop, thanks to the adrenaline, he gradually slowed down until ultimately breaking off his rush. While getting down from his high, he regained his senses, one by one, little by little. 

He looked, once again, at the ground underneath him, in awe.

The path had been marked by his two worn-out boots as if they had previously been soaked in a striking, iridescent white liquid paint. Fluorescent in the dark, the footprints brightened the gloomy alley like lanterns floating during the night. It was mesmerizing, a sight for sore eyes.

He smiled dolefully as he remembered the holidays he spent in his chamber back in Old Corona, alone by his window, watching wistfully the incandescent ‘stars’ flying, staggering, through the skies as he wondered if the Lost Princess missed her mommy too. The fond memories he made as he often, almost repeatedly, extended his arm, past the windowsill, and reached for a passing lantern that had flown too near his home.

Varian shook his head disapprovingly.

He reasoned and cut himself:

_“It’s because of her you’re trapped here, don’t forget.”_

The clever boy shook his head, an unyielding frown on brows as well on his mouth. He couldn’t afford being sidetracked, not at the moment.

Ahead of him, merely meters away from Varian was the gleaming spark. It seemed to dim every step he took, only to brighten harder if he backed off in the slightest. 

Could someone see him approach the curious light? Was there something that could perceive his movements?

The teen squinted in order to distinguish the origin of this curious, shimmering light. 

A small rock was at its core. A hovering, standing tall in the absolute nothing, small rock, further accurately. To be fair, it looked more like a precious gem with all the lustrous lights and vivid colors.

Something deep in Varian wanted him to establish contact with the flying jewel. An unknown desire shoving him towards the stone. 

Tentatively, he raised his bare hand and leveled it to the mystical artifact. The temperature against his fingers was freezing, giving off frosty waves of energy. It was so cold, you could almost call it scorching.

After a second of hesitation, he extended his arm, past his restrictions, and reached out for the light that flew too close to him.

He took a hold of the floating item in a single, swift motion, unable to pause his actions.

Touching the opal would soon become a brand new and unforgettable experience for Varian. 

The stone burned horribly, it was, fundamentally, too much to handle for the boy. 

The flaming rays emitted from the stone pierced through his skin, reaching his veins and boiling his blood. 

If asked, Varian would describe the sensation as painful, just like if someone had drenched his fingers in blazing acid and then put his whole hand in a bonfire, thus melting each of its fibers, all the while dancing around his aching body. 

A pure agony to ‘live’ through.

Yet, a little voice in his heart persisted and whispered to him. Ordering him to push through, to destroy his barriers and his chains. To let his restraints loose. 

So, he forced himself to hold on, even for a tad longer. 

(Unfortunately, he knew, deep down, he wouldn’t be able to keep up for long.)

It was hot, hotter than the inside of the automaton, unbearably so. Sweat trickled down his face, (Varian promptly pondered how the heck was that even possible considering he just died) and his legs shook. His uncut bangs were glued to his sticky forehead as the alchemist felt a wave of nausea taking over him, his head ringing painfully.

His other hand came up to the stone shortly after. 

Now holding the stone with both of his bare hands, Varian maintained his grip firmly despite his sweaty palms and prayed. Prayed for everything to stop soon.

_Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf..._

And he counted.

Several instants later, the gem oozed heat. A familiar kind of heat warmed his entire being in a welcoming way. As he embraced the comforting sensation, he suddenly was reminded of his dad’s tight hugs and Ruddiger’s delicious hot cocoa.

Flipping his lids shut, he barely noticed tears slipping from his eyes’ cracks and let the warmth overtake his tired body, bathing it in a gentle luminescence.

Varian let his limb give up unceremoniously after encasing the shock and crumbled down, passing out on the hard ground, a precious jewel snug cozily in his cool palm.

10. _Dix._

“Wake up.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! i hope you're having a great time with me (or in general) :)
> 
> i'm sorry if this chapter was a bit... weird or inconsistent? dialogue is really hard (for me at least) and i kind of?? improvised my portrayal of Eugene?? 
> 
> (I edited this chapter so much, i think i know some of the scenes by heart. so i decided to move on and post it as that. the next one will, hopefully, be more... uhh.. informative?)
> 
> i caught the flu (still have) and was a bit worn out and stressed because of s c h o o l but i'm fine now.
> 
> (i'm on school break, which is really great.)
> 
> school sucks btw.
> 
> (my apologies, imo, school sucks)
> 
> art to accompany the fic should come soon when I figure out how to insert images!
> 
> all of your comments give me a lot of strength and greatly warms my heart. i appreciated every one of them. thanks a lot for all your support. 
> 
> anyway, hope you liked this chapter :) have a nice day/night!


	3. Chapter 3

Varian woke up gasping for air and sweating. His head aching, a constant ringing buzz in his ears, and a skull about to explode in hundreds of pieces.

Memories were dulled, turned into blurry images, his brain groggy and sleepy from its slumber. His vision wasn’t any better, as it was hardly accustomed, the sudden burst of brightness and the more or less magical appearance of material articles was painful, his eyes struggling to do their task at their customary accuracy.

Yet, there was something as clear as glass amid all the chaos. 

He, without a doubt, remembered dying on his knees by the hands of one of the King’s servants. He remembered walking down a nonexistent path made of lurking shadows, he remembered a crystalline voice calling out to him incessantly, and most of all, he remembered clutching a strange, undeniably magical, stone...

The next thing he knew, he was in an unfamiliar forest with his head very much in place. 

Baffled from all the recent echoes becoming fresh in memory, he wobbly opened his two palms in front of him, oddly expecting something to come out from one of them, whether it be the right or the left one.

There was no jewel falling from either of them.

What was going on exactly? Was it all a dream?

And if it was then... Why wasn’t he in prison? 

His crimes, his suffering, and his anger weren’t a dream, they weren’t plain lies and deceptions, he was convinced of that. After all, he could still feel them deep down, grossly masked by the panic getting the better of his heart.

Varian took a calming breath, succumbing to fear wasn’t the right solution to cope with.

He studied the scenery, forcing himself not to lose his marbles over the fact that, yes, he was indeed in a forest he had absolutely never seen before. 

As abruptly as he could with a body that seemed to stick to the ground like slimy glue, he rose up and raised his head towards the heavens. 

Hey, at least there was a sky. This was an improvement… in a way or another.

The sky was of a dark blue with grazing layers of purple and pink hues. Sprinkled with recurrent tiny stains of white and silver stars varying in sizes and forms. If Rapunzel was there, it was a landscape she would most definitely paint. 

The moon, high above, watched over the land with a curious, almost innocent glint in its sphere, as though it was animated, a peculiar twinkle to see nowadays. 

With its eerie glow, he could precisely observe and feel the woods surrounding: the ruffling leaves, the decorated trunks, even the feeble wind blowing through. He also noticed a lovely little lake near the clearing he woke up in, the fishes in the water streams continuously and gradually swimming, visibly unbothered by Varian’s predicament.

All this light seemed almost too close to him to be the moon’s.

If he wasn’t so distracted, he wouldn’t mind studying this phenomenon. 

Unfortunately, at the moment, an undisclosed source of light seemed the least of his worries, a futile detail to ignore.

The grass lying beneath him was moist, wet, and fresh in the wee hours of the morning, breathing, alive by itself. An ecosystem on its own, working perfectly without any external disturbances. 

A sharp divulged smell of provincial herbs and musky scents transpired in this small little place, the perfume of a peaceful night slowing down the hurried times and the fast-paced lives that engorged the close city. Lives which, at the moment, inhaled and exhaled in unison similar to a choir in a church. A living orchestra of people, unaware of the minutes that flew and flowed like birds and rivers once midnight came.

Varian glanced at a particularly big tree with a vacant expression. 

He smiled tightly to himself in order to reassure himself like he possibly could.

There gotta be a good reason for him not to panic.

The boy paced around the clearing, his fingers anxiously scratching his chin the more he theorized.

“Well, whatever the circumstances, I’m alive. And that’s... great! I guess...” He concluded to himself, voice shaking in sheer disbelief.

It appeared he didn’t quite believe himself yet.

After pronouncing these words, he looked around him. Speaking of speaking, there was a person back there, he was certain of it. 

Varian remembered the strange lyrics he once heard in his sleep: 

_“Come to me, child.”_

_“Wake up.”_

He was obviously awake now. Where did the voice go? Who was the person that spoke to him? 

Was that also just a dream? Where did the dream even begin? 

“Great, and now I’m talking to myself.” 

He kicked a small rock off the road. 

“Am I going crazy? Hehe, I’m definitely going crazy…”

He looked at the sky, once again, staring at the distance, a faraway expression written on his face.

What was he supposed to do next?

Distressed, he rubbed his neck by habit.

It was perfectly in place, delicately put between his shoulders, unmoving and motionless. Thin and fragile, his nape seemed so easy to snap in two, to cut into two perfect halves, nice and neat. 

How clean the slice would be.

Shudders roamed his spine, an uncomfortable feeling churning in his stomach, the memories of a late nightmare arising. 

It felt too real to only be an illusion. It couldn’t be just an illusion.

Then, his fingers brushed against an irregular texture on his otherwise smooth skin. 

Varian tensed up. What was that?

As his index grazed the anomaly for a while longer, the young boy figured out what it was. A scar. 

A long mark, thin as a thread but present, skimmed around the entire length of his neck. It encircled his nape, just like a collar, or more optimistically it fitted him like a tight necklace.

It wasn’t a dream, he understood. He truly died by the hands of the King, Corona had his blood on its hands, on its streets.

Varian was livid, a shudder of horror shaking him violently from head to toes.

Then, how was he still alive? No, why was he still alive? No, no, was he still alive? 

Hastily, he put two of his fingers on his wrist, searching for a regular, familiar thumping. No pulse, no sound, nothing. He then laid his hand on his chest, near the area of his heart. No heartbeat, no rhythm. Nothing.

How was this even possible? At this point of nonsense, it was up to anyone’s guess. 

The presumably dead boy put both of his hands on his cheeks. 

Lo and behold, they were neither cold nor burning hot. His temperature was perfectly normal. 

Perfectly normal for a breathing human.

That wasn’t normal. 

Was he dead? Was he living? Which one was the correct answer? It couldn’t be both. 

He frowned. Why couldn’t he die like everyone else?

(Or was it like that for everyone else too?)

The meaning of this pointless situation was unfathomable, completely incomprehensible, and out of Varian’s reach. 

And, a defeated part of him he didn't even want to try to understand.

Maybe it was better, this time, to let things slide and answers fade away, he was tired of chasing them adamantly without any sort of reward, wherever he went.

Impossible, he was sick of being denied these, sick of being ignored by everyone around his questioning head. 

Because since he now accepted the fact no-one was going to serve them on a silver platter, he was going to get them himself with even more ardor, even more drive.

_“But seeking answers was also what caused dad to get encased.”_

Varian stopped in his tracks momentarily.

Two contradictory mindsets existing inside one and only brain clashed together tremendously. A fight between two contrasting morals and standards. Emotions collided with force as thoughts were made and used and wasted. 

Torn between the incompatible options, his mind wavered constantly. Leaning towards one side while weighing up the pros of the other.

Should he chase what he wanted? Or should he just let it go?

He wrinkled his nose out of irritation, one of his hands reflexively raising up to his skull, grasping at his hair’s locks. As his fingers made contact with his skull, a shock of surprise ran through his veins. 

At once, he immediately removed his hand from his head.

Where was his hair?

This wasn’t the right question to ask. He could still feel the soft, oily texture on the tip of his digits. 

However, the long, uncut strands that usually fell on his shoulders seemed to have disappeared.

“Disappearance” may not be the best term to employ, he came to this end after studying his hair’s condition carefully, it seemed they were held up high, almost like they were levitating or in a very elevated ponytail.

The criminal hurried towards the lake near him, determined to make, or at least his hair’s state, things clear. He quickly scrambled to his knees, tucking his ankles to avoid any supplementary pain. Meticulously, he leaned his head closer to the reflecting pond.

He jumped a bit, letting out a stranded sound at the shock of his identical image staring back at him. Hopefully, nobody was around to witness this.

It’s been so long since he saw himself properly.

The water was lucid, as clear as glass, a perfectly functional mirror. The details were delicately transcribed on the surface, the only disturbance being the fleeting ripples. 

The big blue eyes, the circles under them, the freckles around his nose… all these familiar features, visible on his reflection.

Nonetheless, who was that boy he was seeing?

Perhaps it was because of the water, but, Varian was certain his skin wasn’t this pale, even in prison, malnourished and unhappy. 

At the moment, his skin was translucent.

Yet, his complexion was still not the most shocking change in his physiognomy.

The source of this check-up: his hair, however...

“White hair?” He wondered briskly out loud.

White, _glowing_ hair to be more precise...

The color wasn’t the only new additional characteristic, unfortunately. Indeed, from his scalp to his bangs, the totality of his hair was floating above his skull, as if a violent gust of wind was striking it vertically, continuously, towards the sky.

_“Hold up a second, floating?”_

Why did “glowing, floating hair” sound so familiar to him?

_(A flashing memory of Rapunzel, each strand of her hair glowing golden like the Sundrop she was, controlling the black rocks he dearly abhorred._

_The cause of his defeat, of course._

_Ultimately, it was the cause, or part of, of his demise as well.)_

Right.

Varian hoped to the moon and back he was in no way linked to magic, let alone _her_ magic.

Although he came to… acknowledge magic’s existence, his views about it didn’t evolve much despite the constant exposition.

“Magic” was fantastic, captivating, some may even say revolutionary.

While Varian wouldn’t invalidate these specific adjectives to define “magic”, a certain disdain to it grew steadily in him, the more he was introduced to it, the more numb he was to its flair.

It’s not because something is magic that it doesn’t require any explanation or logical thinking. Saying “it’s magic” and calling it quits is only lazy reasoning.

This statement was the core of his opinions on magic. 

Of course, “magic” still had interesting fields to explore and contents Varian was eager to explore, just.. maybe not for now.

(Never would be fine too, if he was being honest.)

Manipulating the unknown and the meaningless was as exciting as it was dangerous. He knew the lesson by heart by now. 

Whether it be hair, rocks, flowers, or princesses, Varian never had a positive experience with magical incidents.

_“It’s gotta be something else! Anything but magic!”_

“Hello there, moonchild.” A calm voice called out to him.

Varian froze in place. Fuck, he had been spotted.

Taken aback, the young boy let flee from his lips a shrilling shriek before firmly putting a hand over his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He snapped his head around, glaring as menacingly as he could at the newcomer.

Varian crawled leisurely away from the source of the voice, nearly diving into the lake as a result.

A figure standing on the forest’s ground, an oil lamp in one hand. His hair’s glow and the torch’s squared up starkly, meddling and harshly coexisting together.

The scenery reeked of danger and mystery.

Just like the black rocks.

Varian prayed like he never had before for the stranger not to be a local. The lamp vacillated slowly, emitting a squeaky sound piercing the peaceful, silent bubble he was in.

After realizing he was staring unabashedly at the newcomer, Varian coughed out in embarrassment:

“Uh, hi.”

The young boy could only gape dramatically as he caught a glimpse of the stranger’s face. A face that was, sadly, familiar. 

It was Xavier, a blacksmith from Corona.

Even though the silhouette was fuzzy, Varian swore he could perceive a smile through the shadows.

_“He wouldn’t give me away, would he?”_

Varian’s mental whirlwind was cut short as he processed Xavier’s greetings. 

“Wait, what did you just call me?”

The intruder only smiled wider which caused Varian to frown harder.

“You seem to have created a bond with the moonstone. This hair stripe, it saved you.”

A beat passed, no additional information seeped out of the blacksmith’s mouth.

“The moonstone?” The teenager asked incredulously.

“It’s a long story. Fortunately, my house isn’t very far away from here” 

_“Is that a trap?”_

As the man approached the troubled boy, the silhouette became clearer to Varian, now sure of the person he was talking to. The other offered a hand, which the younger promptly accepted while keeping his silence, reluctant to talk any further without answers.

Noticing Varian didn’t budge an inch, Xavier added with a noticeable smile:

“Come on. Everything's better with a hot drink.” 

Varian nodded, bewildered that someone would offer this to him, and followed Xavier out of the woods, vaguely listening as the blacksmith related the myth of the Sunflower.

....

Xavier’s house, located just behind the blacksmith shop, was just like in Varian’s memories, it didn’t change very much. Warm, cozy, and welcoming, with a pinch of mystery as not to make it boring. 

Pieces of Furniture were arranged in a practical manner, the owner probably not caring about the aesthetic value as much as the methodical one. Though, even if they weren’t the newest furnishings around, you could tell they were greatly taken care of, all spotless, not a single dash of dust in view.

In this place, everything seemed as mundane as it was intriguing. Tons of books were tidied up on various shelves of different sizes, forms, and at multiple heights. Old tales of another age, stories for little children in the dark, myths from centuries ago, grimoires full of science and magic Varian didn’t quite believe. A few impressive maps were exposed on the stoned walls, all of them scratched with red marks and drawn indications.

The picture painted a veritable, marvelous mine of treasures for the curious: a cavern full of loads of knowledge to dig.

An ancient, minuscule mirror stood up from the humble environment. It was placed on a wall, clipped, elevated from the room’s other decorations. Heavily embellished, with colorful, glittering small rocks that seemed precious littered across its borders, it certainly caught Varian’s attention quite quickly.

Varian risked a glance. 

A boy, staying still with shocked and fearful eyes, stroking absentmindedly a table.

His current appearance was striking, he still couldn’t get used to seeing himself in this sort of state. He was incapable of recognizing himself within the first seconds.

Thankfully, he thought, his hair stopped glowing and floating around promptly after he entered the building, returning to their original dark color, a comforting semblance of normalcy in this disarray.

The older man motioned the young alchemist to sit down at the table. Still confused and stunned, Varian obeyed without any word, palming the chair clumsily, failing to take it multiple times before ultimately sitting down.

“It’s been quite a long time since we talked together, don’t you think, Varian?” Xavier said as he began to heat a pot.

Varian blinked. It was still unfamiliar for him to be addressed by his name, he was almost disconnected from it, unaware of his initial identity.

(Strangely, he didn’t feel as uncomfortable as the last time, maybe it was because it was beginning to become more common.)

The memory of the Captain’s stern gaze piercing through his soul gave him shivers.

“I’ve been... busy recently.”

Varian hoped Xavier didn’t catch wind of what he had been up to. The Xavier he once knew quite liked the royal family, like the young child he had been, long ago.

“Or so I heard.”

The alchemist gulped guiltily, shrinking himself, he didn’t want the old man to think differently from the young, eager little boy that explored with pupils blown wide with interest his atelier moons ago.

“Yeah, right…” He replied, fidgeting his fingers.

With no further warnings, the old man suddenly turned towards him, two filled mugs in his hold, one for each hand. 

Varian, sensing danger, flinched away from him instinctively, causing him to stumble out of his chair. One of his arms that were vividly flailing in order to avoid the fall, bumped against Xavier’s. 

The blow was violent enough to cause something to fall from the old man’s grip. 

It _should_ have been brutal enough.

As Varian was about to apologize, his eyes briefly inspected the ground underneath him. Unstained and clean, the floor was immaculate, with no changes.

Then, his stare scanned Xavier from his toes to his skull. He still had the two cups in both of his sturdy hands. Disconcerted, Varian spluttered a bunch of incomprehensible sentences mixing apologies and questions.

The latter delicately put his grip’s content on the table, encouragingly placing one of the mugs closer to the frazzled boy.

“Here, drink up. I remember you were quite fond of this. Oh, wait for a second, I’m coming right back.”

He turned around, strutting away from his guest.

“I-”

_“I’m not a child.”_ He was going to say. 

Instead, he held his words inside his mouth, it wasn’t the right time to be insolent or ungrateful. His tongue dripped from the poisonous idioms he memorized from prison.

So, alternatively, he scrutinized the beverage that was calmly set before his eyes.

_Hot chocolate._

… Also known as one of his favorite meals.

(What do you mean it’s not a meal?)

First, Varian squinted, suspicious of the mug’s content. It looked perfectly harmless, with no traces of toxic chemicals or poisonous substances. 

He couldn’t let his guard down.  
  


After years of constantly studying in a lab, it was natural for him to be the littlest bit cautious. Especially if you, quite literally, lived sealed away in your workspace.

Then, he sniffed it. Leisurely drawing in his nostrils the sugary odor of cocoa, he smelt a saccharine and pleasant perfume, it was gratifying.

Next, he tried to grab the glass. 

It… curiously didn’t work. The cup seemed to have, quite literally, slipped through his fingers. If it wasn’t for the current situation, it would have been hilarious.

He frowned in confusion and tried again.

He succeeded, this time. He was now holding the drink.

_“Great job, Varian...”_ He sarcastically thought.

The irked young boy scowled and clicked his tongue. 

Of course, it was only his mind playing tricks.

Tentatively, he brought the cup to his lips and savored a slow sip. Gulping down, Varian admitted: it was indeed good and as far as he knew, safe as well. Satisfied and instantly warmed up, the small boy let out a content noise.

It _was_ good. Not as delicious as his and Ruddiger’s recipe, but the taste was there, on point. Hot, sweet, and comforting.

If only he had this in prison. He would probably have endured a lot better his stay.

Varian chugged down another, more confident swallow of the drink, savoring the delectable flavor that consumed his taste buds, and waited for his new ally to come back, admiring the adorned fortifications.

True to his words, Xavier came back a few minutes after his withdrawal. With him, a carnet of a small size. 

Despite his meager surface, the notebook seemed overstuffed with numerous additional papers. Drawings, sketches, and blueprints that represented countless nameless creatures, plants, and inventions.

On the cover, he could read the word “magic”.

Varian kept himself from rolling his eyes or scoffing.

The copybook was now spread open before their eyes. Inside as well, were multitudinous illustrations, a few paragraphs written in a foreign language next to them. 

A rough painting caught his interest for a second. The picture depicted an individual endowed with long, bright, flying hair.

Varian dismissed the similitudes with himself.

The additional transcriptions, transcribed in different sheets of papers stalled inside the notebook, seemed to detail them in a familiar alphabet, bright red arrows shooting from words to certain, recurrent elements. 

After a while of contemplating, the alchemist gathered it was Xavier’s handwriting.

“Did you-? Are you…?” Varian detached his eyes from the peculiar book and turned towards the older man. “Is that... A translation?”

Xavier chuckled goodheartedly, scratching his nape. 

“You could define it as such. Though, it’s a very superficial one since this one isn’t my main… project, should I say, at the moment. Some words may be erroneous.”

Awed and wonderstruck, Varian immediately got back to the book after receiving the reply and caressed the paper multiple times, his eyes sparkling as he skimmed through the pages. Four to five spreads later, the translations seemed to have ceased, leaving only exotic characters on the colored papers. Varian returned to the start of the journal where the painting was located. 

“That’s… that’s very impressive. Really… But… why are you showing me that, sir?”

“It also contains ‘The original Tale of the Moonstone and the Sundrop’,” Xavier explained. “The Moonstone is linked to you, isn’t it?”

“I, uh, yeah... I guess?” 

Varian frowned, he didn’t like the turn these circumstances were taking.

“This book contains all the studies an intellectual made about this subject, years ago, during the Queen’s pregnancy. I thought it could help you.”

Varian’s curiosity piqued up.

“An intellectual? Who?”

Xavier scratched his chin and said:

“A lot of people mobilized during that time, so it can be about anyone from any kingdom… I remember someone giving me this journal and instructing me to take care of it just a few days before the princess’s birth. But I always keep forgetting about them and their work. Haha, I must be getting old.”

“Forget… Forget about them?” 

“That’s right. I can recall neither their face, voice nor their name... It’s a shame, if only we could retrace them.”

“And their work?” Varian asked even if he was afraid of the answer.

“Unfortunately... I seem to have only remembered this old masterpiece at this instant, after observing your peculiar condition. I keep on forgetting about it two or three days after picking it up again.”

Varian blinked successively, one of his hands brought to his face in disbelief. 

“I see… That’s… concerning.”

An awkward pause made them break their conversation. Varian sighed as he tapped his index on the table. 

“Alright, and you think that they, whoever they were, are talking about me, is that correct?” 

“Absolutely. I’m certain even.” Xavier chuckled at the younger’s reaction.

“Would that really help me?” The boy inquired, skeptical.

“I believe so.” 

Varian leaned closer to the painting, deciphering the message carved into the book the best he could while referencing himself with the sketchy translation sheet nearby.

“Have a glance, Varian. I’m sure you will find something interesting.”

“Those who bathe in the… sun rays?”

Xavier smiled patiently. 

“Moonlight.” He corrected.

The young boy groaned, knocking his forehead against the table, bitter and embarrassed of his mistake. Xavier only laughed louder.

....

Since it was already late in the night and Xavier was far too kind to let Varian wander in the cold streets where it was as simple as pie for him to get arrested, the alchemist ended up staying at his house for the night. 

Carefully folded on the guestroom’s chest, clean clothes waited patiently for the young boy. 

They were too long and too baggy but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

Varian leaned, picking the shirt up.

Well, more like _trying_ to pick the shirt up. Because it seemed that his body suddenly decided not to obey him.

Varian’s jaw clenched. He wasn’t ready to deal with his ineptness, not right now. Tiredly, he reached out for a second time.

To no one’s surprise, it didn’t work.

“What the fuck is going on with me today?” He snapped privately at himself.

Unusual happenings seemed to go on occurring to him today.

“Ah, nevermind.” He let out, relieved as he finally grasped the shirt and put it on.

Varian didn’t waste any time further with the issue and bent down to seize the pants. And, even though his hands made contact with the fabric, the pants didn’t even budge.

Varian raised an eyebrow, exasperated yet disturbed. 

First the cup, then the shirt and now the pants? There was definitely something wrong with him. It was too frequent and uncanny to be a simple coincidence.

Varian observed what was in front of him with wary eyes, thinking about what could cause this peculiar reaction. To test out his conclusions, he let his left hand fall on his pants and waited for a reaction. 

It fell across the pants and across the chest, landing on the floor before he could even blink, passing through these solid items like it was air.

As though his limbs were immaterial, as though they were nonexistent.

His eyes widened as a realization struck him:

What if he wasn’t physical? What if he got turned into some sort of ghost?

If he wasn’t so tired, mayhaps he would have gone ballistic. 

But hold on, he was visible, wasn’t he? How come could he still touch things if he wasn’t physical? 

To make his condition clear, he decided to test, one more time, to pick up these infuriating clothes. He achieved.

“What? It actually worked…” He looked at his hands in stupefaction.

Varian let his arm penetrate the item’s facade, there were no repercussions whatsoever. The boy’s hand wasn’t bruised and the chest wasn’t damaged. 

His arm was made of nothing.

He motioned a punch, his fingers cracking against the firm texture of the chest.

“Ouch!”

The minor pain made Varian’s hand twitch.

“What the actual…”

An absurd hypothesis came to his mind as fast as lightning. As incredible as it sounded, it may be the right elucidation to draw from these incidents.

He inspected the room meticulously, his stare quickly arriving at the closest item he didn’t touch earlier on, the bed. With a mind set and without elaborating his thinking, Varian rushed to it, plunging. From its end to the other, he passed through, ultimately diving on the floor headfirst. He winced at the rough arrival but stood up straight away, scratching his chin. Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest way to prove his point and tackle his problem.

The first step of his small experimentation came to an end, it was time to touch the object in question a second time. No variations, his fingers still passed through. 

The final stage of his experiment: the third touch. His hand lazily grazed the mattress…

It felt real.

Varian sighed, evidently, he was right, or at least some part of his reasoning was. He reached the conclusion he had to, henceforth, touch any object two times before triumphantly grabbing it. 

Until further contradiction, Varian would roll with this rule as admitted and accept this condition as fact.

He pouted. What a useless waste of time.

Varian settled on the bed as comfortably as he could, with even more uncertainties hanging around in his head during his tiny existential crisis.

Why wasn’t he passing through the floor? Why touch it thrice? What was the point? Why was the wood now solid whereas he only tapped the mattress?

For tonight, he would consider himself grateful and ignore them. It was magic, logic be damned.

After all, he had more important matters to fret over. Time was racing past him every second he passed tumbling with his thumbs, doing nothing. He barely had a day to think up a plan to ensure his safety.

Unable to get a wink of sleep, he was stuck preparing and distressing in a spiral of thousands of possibilities and only two outcomes, the best scenario and the worst one. 

  1. He could successfully flee Corona and stay hidden somewhere else. The rest, he could figure it out at one point or another of his odyssey.



  1. Or, he could get caught and thrown in prison where he might either serve the rest of his life in the dungeons or die in the gallows.



To survive or to die trying.

For starters, he wasn’t completely lost in his plans, he knew he had to think fast and leave as fast as well. 

He couldn’t risk getting caught, not a second time. For the rest of the night, Varian was left wondering.

_“If it wasn’t a dream then where did the jewel go?”_

  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varian finally leaves Corona + a few illustrations to accompany the fic

Soft sun rays illuminating his face, at the back of Xavier’s cart, Varian muddled over his thoughts, mustering all the courage and bravour he had in his heart to face the place of his childhood.

The embodiment of his failures, of his defeat.

(The aftermath of the “Battle of Old Corona” hadn’t been really satisfying for everyone.)

The ride to Old Corona was as relaxing as it could be, which was something Varian was thankful for, especially in the light of where they were headed. His nerves seemed to calm down, matching up to the beat of the wind’s movements. The only sounds interfering with the tranquil atmosphere the carriage was in, were the occasional bumps on the road, the birds’ musical chirping, and Xavier’s low voice filling the void.

It was so loud compared to these last few months.

Enwrapped in a large cloak and a large hood, Varian felt safe hidden from the outside world. 

Though, since it was officially given to him earlier in the morning, he would probably cut it later, a fabric this large could only be restraining and meddlesome although comfortable.

Since the wain proceeded at a steady pace, Varian decided it would be for the better to enjoy the trip while it lasted. He leaned against the cart’s wooden fortifications and shut his lids, secretly paying attention to Xavier’s tellings with a discreet smile.

...

“Wow.” 

Was the only sound that left Varian’s mouth when he saw the desolated state of his village. It was heartbreaking to see the place he grew up in like this. He was speechless, deprived of his ability to process intelligible sentences.

There weren’t any traces of his automatons left, only ruins and the nagging scent of despair and obliteration. It was familiar to Varian, almost welcoming. Like an old friend you didn’t see in a while greeting you out of nowhere, overwhelming in a small span of time. The same perfume could be smelled deep down under the ground, in the dungeons after all.

At least, he wouldn’t be bothered by anyone catching him since absolutely nobody was around here. Even the hoards of raccoons that seemed to plot against him before everything happened appeared to have vanished.

The place was deserted, people replaced by sharp black rocks and houses dismantled by them with no exception.

The sole sight of them was enough to give him nausea and cold sweats.

Varian moved forward, swaying slightly on his feet. Oscillating, he touched a destroyed wall of stone with mournful eyes. 

His body phased, again, and he almost fell. (Wait, his clothes did too?)

Varian drew himself back in shock. That... That was new. Were his clothes considered a part of his body? Or did everything that touched him was? He would have to conduct new tests soon… He had to try to make the most of this strange condition for the greater good.

_ But _ , he interrupted himself,  _ now isn’t the time to play around _ ,  _ I have other, more important things to do. _

Glancing around while dodging rocks (despite his new powers, he still didn’t want to touch them, even with a pole), he caught himself remembering how much of a pain it was to live around those things. If only he had been able to get rid of those atrocities, maybe the whole thing about destroying the monarchy would not have gone down.

No, if only he didn’t get involved in the first place, if only the princess had never knocked on his door...

Maybe then… He would have a chance to return to his peaceful life as a farmer boy.

He didn’t have the time to keep dwelling on this track. He had a plan to execute.

First, he was going to find some useful goods inside this dump, put it all inside a bag, and next, he will be on his way to flee Corona.

(He had no idea of where he was going, how he would survive, or what he planned to do next. He just knew he had to get out of this kingdom and fast. Not everyone was as merciful as Xavier.)

Somewhere along the lines, Xavier decided to leave him to his own devices, giving him a somewhat semblance of privacy amid this confusing predicament.

Varian observed the decrepit mansion crumbling in front of him, an indescribable look on his face. Well, it was time to enter.

Without bothering himself with the door, Varian went through, ignoring the foreign feeling that spread in his veins. 

...

The young alchemist went past the sill of the room, not even bothering himself by opening the door and going through it. He appraised it with a watchful stare.

His chamber was the same as usual, messy, crowded with misfitting inventions and various past-times. A cluster of back rocks invaded a corner of his room, impaling one of the “latest” creations he invented and a couple of mechanical plans.

To say he wasn’t pleased the day he found out about that was a cosmic understatement.

Lingering, his gaze traversed across the expanse, gaze fixed on diverse objects: his personal clock alarm of his own design, his guitar, his  _ Flynnigan Rider  _ novels, the mechanical arms hovering over his headboard...

It was futile to think that way but if only he could, he would take all these items away with him. 

Varian browsed his bedroom from top to bottom, digging into his drawers, his closets, and his chests while paying attention to touch each thing two times before grabbing it. 

So far, he collected a purse full of gold coins and a pocketful of silver pieces which would, according to his calculations, provide enough to survive for three months or so, maybe five if he ate in far-off intervals and slept outside.

_ “It’s not healthy, Varian.”  _ The chastising voice of his father resonated deep inside his mind.

Health wasn’t his priority, survival was.

And to survive, you needed money. That’s how the world worked.

(Is magical hair expensive? With a bit of luck, perhaps he could sell off some of his hair at a good price… Who knew?)

Varian packed the money, loaded his rucksack with spares of clothes (including a lot of turtlenecks), some books he deemed helpful (while carefully avoiding the  _ Flynnigan Rider  _ ones), empty journals, ink, quills, alchemical solutions, bombs, and vials that were discarded on the floor (we never know who he might meet). He also picked up a clean and sharp shard from a broken mirror and slipped it inside one of his inner pockets for the sake of sentimentality.

As he stood up, a dangerous glint caught his interest. A simple dagger, peeking out of a drawer, standing out from the eccentric, overcomplicated scenery. 

Varian remembered he used to carve and cut pumpkins with this dagger. 

He squinted. Quite sturdy pumpkins with a thick layer of skin, if he recalled right.

(Sturdier than a human’s.)

Without an ounce of stalling, he took it. If things risked taking a sour turn, this sort of thing would always be useful. After all, weapons usually are.

The stakes were high and even if he didn’t want to hurt anyone, survival was his priority.

**...**

As Varian idly strolled around, he made sure to take in all the details. This may well be the last time he visits his own house. 

The next day, this will probably not be his home anymore.

Distracted by the uncertainty of his future, Varian stumbled, bumping accidentally against a particularly vigorous rock. 

The contact vibrated all throughout his skin like wildfire and he managed to hold back a surprised gasp. 

“What-?”

That couldn’t be possible, he didn’t even touch it beforehand.

Spinning his head back to glare at the offending obstacle, Varian discovered to his dismay that the damned rock shone. It shone.   


Horrified, Varian quickly stepped backward, a burning sensation torturing his gut. A part of him already suspected that he had some sort of link with the black rocks. Since his connection to the Moonstone was revealed… it was practically obvious now.

But he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to have anything with these abominations.

_ “Closer, child.”  _ A voice whispered in his ear.

“Where were you this whole time?” Varian asked indignantly to the air around him.

Great, he snorted. Now, he was used to talking to “himself”.

_ “Closer, child. _ ”

“Why should I even listen to you? Stop calling me that!”

He wasn’t stupid, those creepy rocks were dangerous, he wasn’t going to forget that fact so soon. There was no way he was going to listen to a weird, spooky voice.

_ “Come closer, Varian.” _

Varian shivered and took several quick steps back. This person, this thing.. called him. The voice knew his name. 

Stumbling back disorientingly, Varian tripped over his own feet. 

(One day, he would find a cure for clumsiness.)

As he met the ground, a cloud of dust evaporated around him. Straightening himself, he quickly smoothed out his clothes of anything unwanted and as his gaze traveled downwards, his breath was cut short.

A helmet.

Tremors traveled down his spine, a sudden fear obscuring his brain.

Was a guard here? Did Xavier spill the beans? Did he give Varian away?

Would he survive once again- Oh, forget it, it was his father’s.

Calming down, Varian breathed through his nose and stooped down cautiously, poking at the discarded item before grabbing it. Geez, he was way too jumpy these last few days… or well, these last few weeks.

The helmet was old and contrary to Xavier’s possessions, manifestly not given proper care and love. The design was one Varian never saw before, whether it be in real life or in books, which spurred his curiosity to grow exponentially. It was obscure, unlike Corona’s shining golden protections. And judging by its form, it could hide quite nicely one’s identity. 

Once worn, the headpiece would cover most of the person’s head, allowing only the mouth and the eyes to show through.

It _ could _ have been beneficial, but, unfortunately, his father’s skull was far bigger than his and since the eyes’ slits were so thin, he wouldn’t be able to see much with this on.

Nevertheless, Varian continued to stare at it, enthralled.

The light grey of the metal was slightly dimmed because of the layer of dust recovering the helmet like a thin curtain. Something, like a scar, was traced from above the gap left for the user to see until beneath it, passing through the opening in a continuous, abrupt stroke.

Varian knitted his brows together as he noticed an inscription on the headpiece. As he analyzed it more profoundly, it seemed engraved into the material, the etching only blurred by the dirt stuck inside.

Curious as he was, he blew over the smooth surface, therefore causing him to cough the dust out of his lungs, only to reveal a strange-looking mark. A simple circle with tree lines emerging from the center.

“A symbol?” He stuck his nose against the metal, squinting and attempting to figure out whatever mystery hidden inside this helmet. “What could it possibly mean?”

_ “The Dark Kingdom.” _

“The Dark Kingdom?” Varian dumbly repeated in a daze, ignoring his lasting distrust for the recurring voice. “What are you trying to say?”

_ “Moonstone. The Moonstone.” _

“The... The Moonstone? What does it have to do with my dad?”

_ “The Dark Kingdom.” _

“Hey! Hey, can you even hear me?”

No response. Varian sighed, there was no use in arguing with some unknown entity, he shouldn't spend his precious time left like this.

Longingly watching the intricate details of the helmet one last time, Varian reached a decision. There was largely enough space to carry this with him and something like this could always come in handy.

Varian, ignoring the bursting feeling of loneliness, exited the house, hearing one last command from the clear voice:

_ “Follow the black rocks.” _

That, was the last memory of Varian in his childhood house.

...

Varian was once again at the back of Xavier’s chart, laid down, planning, planning, and planning while the voice’s words kept echoing inside all his inner turmoil.   


“There’s a city near, Vardaros. On that land, there are no guards from Corona.” Xavier said out of the blue.

“That’s great Xavier…” He responded absently, “Wait, Vardaros you said? It’s a city outside Corona, isn’t it?

“You’re absolutely right. If you manage to go past it, there won’t be a lot of risk of getting caught afterward. It’s run independently.”

“Vardaros… That’s an… Interesting option to take into account.”

“What did you have planned?”

The lack of response spoke for itself. Varian didn’t have the right mind to decide his next destination, especially after his one-sided encounter near the rocks. It all made him reconsider his life as a whole. 

Was he really alone? Sure, there was the voice. It didn’t seem to wish him any bad... but still, it was far from comforting. He was half-tempted to think he was only producing poor hallucinations but a magical voice would be the least of his concerns, especially after the rough week he just spent.

The villagers, all the Coronians, surely hate him. Not that he would blame them, of course, he was a criminal. He was a criminal, a twisted monster who accomplished awful deeds. 

No-one in their right mind would want to help a monster. No-one in their right mind would want to help him.

“Hey Xavier, Why are you helping me?”

Xavier only smiled sadly at the question, not that he could see it.

“Aren’t you supposed to be relieved that I found death?”

The older man began to say, “You have done a lot of misdeeds and committed so many crimes..”

“Yes,” Varian interrupted, “I’m aware of that… Your point?’

The older man sighed but kept his patience intact. “Let me finish.”

The former (?) villain obeyed and waited for him to develop his thoughts.

“Your actions hurt a lot of people, I have to agree. And, though you made severe mistakes, there’s so much more in you than your faults. We shouldn’t have let this happen… This thing, your..”

“My execution?”

“You shouldn’t have been sentenced to death… Honestly, I don’t think prison life suited you either.”

“But, I kidnapped the Queen, I threatened the Princess and the King. I killed my- How could that be..? It’s-” Varian sputtered, almost offended.

“It’s not your time yet. You’re such a bright and clever boy. Life gave you another chance, Varian, and I don’t think it’s for you to rot your days away in a cell or with your head cut clean in a bucket. And what happened with your Dad… It was only an unfortunate accident, he wouldn’t want you to suffer from guilt.”

Varian dwelled on the tumbling words. Did he really deserve this so-called second chance? Wouldn’t it be better to get executed a second time?

Xavier had a serious expression on his face, “You’re going to achieve a lot of great things, Varian. To some, you already did...”

“Is it because I’m meant to?” He remarked cynically before snorting, “I’m sorry but I don’t really believe in the whole prophecy-kind-of-crap-”

“No. It’s because I believe so, a lot of people do. Your dad did.”

Varian stared at the sky, his retort lost in the way and his eyes torn up in incomprehension.

“Trust me, you will redeem yourself. Believe in you.”

They bathed in silence for the rest of the excursion.

...

The sun just began to rise.  There were only a few hours before the great departure. Only a few hours before leaving Corona to flee the monarchy and its oppressive air.

If it wasn’t for this purpose, Varian would be elated to travel outside the kingdom.

“And… Done.” He said softly to himself, wishing, not for the first time, to have Ruddiger by his side.

His hands were soaked, the rest of the color steadily washing away as orange droplets were falling from his palms. His escape plan was too simple, too easy to fail. That was why he had to take precautions, a lot of precautions.

Varian stared at the bucket full of water and glanced at his watch.

Twenty-five minutes already flew, time traveled fast, the solution must have already taken effect. 

He inhaled deeply all the air he could take before plunging his head inside the huge recipient, the dye encased in the water. He wrung out his hair inside to let out any unwanted extra.

Varian resurfaced, his head drenched wet.

He picked up the shard of glass in his other hand to check his new appearance.

His dark black hair turned into a bright dark orange, the color of his mother’s hair. Ironically, it was also very similar to some shades of the amber. 

Varian looked at the hair dye he accidentally created one day in his laboratory. The vial now empty, was devoid of any traces of the tangerine liquid.

His father had been quite mad when the unfortunate incident happened for the first time.

Varian huffed a dry laugh, a wistful longing spreading into thin air. What he would give to have these lectures, these reprimands back… it was ridiculous.

The only flaw of this mere disguise was the blue streak.

It was just impossible to dye, the color was still a bright teal.

But Varian wasn’t too angry about that, after all, it was what saved him. It was what allowed him to continue.

...

A sigh escaped her lips. She really should stop worrying about the past.

The caravan was currently taking a break, allowing its passengers and carriers to let their legs run and walk for a bit. 

Pascal, who was minutes ago on her shoulder was now on Eugene’s, both of them nodding skeptically at whatever Lance was eagerly spouting. Cassandra was a few meters away, rewarding the horses by feeding and unloading them.

Rapunzel studied her friends’ bright and cheerful faces. They were all secure and content, smiling at each other and laughing at various jokes thrown around uselessly.

A radiant grin illuminated her visage. 

Everything was alright and fine. And, looking at her friends, she believed it.

A lot more reassured, Rapunzel got out from the caravan on break and began coursing through the grass, caressing the flowers with her bare feet.

Regardless of how many times she did that, it never lost its exhilarating feeling, the wondrous sensation of being alive. 

Breathing in the enticing perfume of the great unknown and adventures, Rapunzel stared at the skyline. 

Cassandra shortly came after, observing the landscape as well, beside her princess. She wasn’t one to usually enjoy sightseeing, she had to admit it was nice, peaceful, once in a while.

Even though she didn’t want to break the calming spell her friend was put under, she felt obligated to intervene.

“Do me a favor and try not to run off like that, Raps.” She sighed for good measure, her smile betraying her all the same. “Not that I don't think you can’t handle yourself, but I promised your dad I'd keep you safe. Even though we managed to survive so far, there were a lot of close ones.” She added, “Too many for my liking.”

Rapunzel broke off from her wistful musings and turned towards her lady-in-waiting with a blinding grin. 

“Oh. Right, sorry.” She giggled.

“You've got to exercise at least some caution out there. Trust me, the real world isn't all fun and games.”

“Woohoo!” 

Lance shouted from behind, laughing all the while. “Next stop: Vardaros! The city of fun and games!”

_ You’ve gotta be kidding me. _

Eugene whistled and clapped, which only seemed to encourage the other former thief furthermore. The two close partners then bumped their fists together, relishing in joy with Cassandra’s barely contained anger.

“I am so glad we decided to bring him along.”

The taller former thief winked obnoxiously at the aspiring knight, delighted with her reaction. 

“Aah, come on, Cass!” Eugene nudged her with his elbow, a snicker on his lips, and continued to talk. “Vardaros is an amazing city. There are a lot of attractions and fun, cute little boutiques! An unforgettable place to create new memories and we’ll even be able to buy souvenirs! You're gonna have fun… which I'm guessing is a new thing for you.” 

When Eugene was close enough to his destination, with one big jump, Pascal landed on the Princess’s shoulder. Rapunzel laughed at her tiny, green friend, and softly brushed off the rebellious strand of her hair that hindered his sight. 

“Come on, Pascal!” She whispered tenderly. “It's our first big city with people outside of Corona!”

She motioned the sight before her, excitement and glee taking over her previous worries.

The long-timed couple of friends watched the horizon looming in front of them wistfully. As unbelievable as it was, this sun was the exact same old sun they used to admire back in the days, perched in the sky, inside their isolated, lonely tower.

Rapunzel smiled, the motion pulling at the tips of her lips. She wasn’t lonely anymore, nor was she isolated.

_ (Unlike a certain someone.) _

Then louder, she announced teasingly, “You heard 'em, Cass! This… is gonna be fun!”

Lance, Eugene, Cassandra, Rapunzel, and Pascal watched the sunrise, starstruck. It was time for new adventures.

“Next stop: Vardaros! We will attain the city in the span of a week or so.”

...

It was time to part ways.  A massive carriage was steadily welcoming travelers wanting to cross Corona’s frontiers.  Varian, a hood darkening his face, and Xavier, a jovial smile painting his face with hope stood side by side. 

“Take the book with you.”

“I can’t accept that! It’s too precious!.” Varian added hastily. “Besides, I-I’m not worth it.”

“... Varian, I’m the one offering, you don’t have to worry about anything. Plus, you will be back to return it, won’t you?”

Xavier gave him a knowing smile and a playful wink. Varian looked at him in the eye. He understood.

The young boy grinned. “Y-yeah. One day, when I return...”

“In five minutes! Departure in five minutes!”

“But what if I don’t want this ‘destiny’ anymore? What am I going to do after passing Vardaros?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to this question, Varian.” Xavier turned to Varian. “It’s not my right, Varian. It never has been.”

“Then whose?” The boy pressed.

Xavier wiped a clean napkin across the mucky helmet and gave it back to Varian.

“Yours. Your destiny is yours only. Always have been. Don’t let others tell you otherwise, Varian.”

Varian’s eyes widened and he realized. He had full control over his life. He grinned widely. Suddenly, he knew what he had to do next. No, what he  _ wanted _ to do next.

_ “Follow the black rocks,”  _ he remembered.

“... I think my route is traced now.”

He glanced back in Old Corona’s direction where his derelict house and haphazard laboratory remained.

Inside were only spoilt planks of wood, various cutting pieces of glass, and scraps of metal. Piles of ruins and filth, nothing worth saving or staying for. A statue made of gold and shades of orange was placed proudly in the middle of the disaster.

There was no point in staying here anymore, it was time to leave the nest and that until who knew when.

He was going to find a cure. He wasn’t going to forget his promise as well.

“Don’t worry dad, I’m finding a way.”

He will put an end to the mystery.

Turning to Xavier, he said, genuinely:

“I think… I think I’m starting to get it now.”

“Departure in two minutes! The passengers are requested to take their seats immediately!”

Varian extended his hand, shyly. “I.. uh..”

It was time to part ways.

Xavier shook his head, accepted the much more small hand, and pulled the frail boy into a hug. Varian let out an estranged sound, shocked at the sudden contact.

“Thank you. For the book, for the drink… for everything.” He whispered against the other’s chest.

“It was my pleasure. Make sure to have a good rest, a long trip is ahead of you.”

“How are you so certain of it?”

“Believe in you, that will be your greatest weapon!”

“Departure now!”

Even though Varian was thrilled to finally leave Corona, it was reluctantly that he pulled away from the hug.

“Time is running fast, boy. It’s now time for you to leave.”

Xavier pointed to the ominous trail of black rocks they could see from far away. His calloused finger revealed the horizon ahead, outside, beyond the Corona Walls.

Varian turned around, his back facing Corona, and confronted his destiny.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed it! how was it?


End file.
